


the doctor and the dead

by zombeesknees



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 02:17:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16904187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombeesknees/pseuds/zombeesknees
Summary: The Doctor and Rose find themselves trapped in a Pennsylvanian farmhouse one fateful night. | Written many moons ago on LJ.





	the doctor and the dead

It was extremely hot in this closet. 

How was it they always found themselves in situations like these? Sure, there were the times when things _actually_ went smoothly and they got to go to fancy dress parties as Sir Doctor and Dame Rose and she wore silk dresses and they drank things out of tiny glasses with the nobby-nobs. 

But why was it they more often found themselves in situations like _this_ : hiding in tiny, cramped, airless places while some mouth-breathing creature stalked them? On days like these, Rose Tyler felt like they spent 75% of their time hiding. 

And from _zombies_? Just what was happening to their luck recently? 

“At least we found this farmhouse,” the Doctor murmured in the darkness somewhere in front of her. It was so dark in here that she couldn’t make out even his outline inches away.

“Doctor, can you hear what I’m thinking?” Rose hissed, her tone a bit more peeved than usual. 

“No. Well, not really.” He repressed the urge to fidget. “Sometimes I can get vague _impressions_ of what you’re thinking.”

“Then you know I’m not thrilled with this.”

“To be fair, Rose, it’s not as if I planned any of it. You know how the TARDIS can be; she has a mind of her own. I can’t help that she decided to drop us in 1960s Pittsburgh when we wanted to go to 2050 Cancun.”

“ _In the middle of a zombie apocalypse_?” Rose whispered with an edge sharp enough to draw blood.

He winced. “We just have to wait it out until morning. By then, a young filmmaker and his friends will have everything under control; they'll cover the whole thing up by releasing their footage and calling it a horror movie.”

“…Are you talking about George Romero?”

“Are you a fan?” He shifted in the darkness with a quiet rustle. “Never would have pegged you as a horror buff.”

“Yeah, well, try growing up with only three channels because your Mum didn’t have the money for a premium license… Not like I could afford to be picky, and the Saturday night monster movies were a highlight of the week.”

There was a loud shuffling outside the door — the clatter of an uncoordinated _thing_ stumbling into furniture. They both stiffened and fell silent. Rose felt his fingers creep over hers and tighten as she bit down on her lip.

Another clatter, a crash of some knickknacks or picture frames, then the sounds of shuffling receded down the hall. 

“When this is over, Doctor,” Rose whispered in a subdued undertone, her heart fluttering birdlike in her chest. “You owe me a helluva holiday. Somewhere I can get a drink with a little brelly in it.”

“And a five star spa? With those hot stones they put on your back, and fancy foot baths?”

“Yeah. …How much longer till morning?”

“About, ohhh, an hour.”

“That’s just wonderful.”

“If you move just a bit to your left, you can lean against the wall here. There’s a coat you can use as a pillow.”

“How can you see anything in this gloom?”

“Time Lord eyes.” He didn’t mention that she also glowed — a vestigial effect from that fateful day when she became the Bad Wolf and absorbed the Time Vortex, no doubt. 

She moved slowly and as quietly as she could, wincing as she unbent her sore legs, freezing when her arm brushed a shirt still on its hanger with a muffled clatter. 

“The closest one is down the hall,” he murmured next to her ear, his breath warm against her cheek. 

She finally felt the wall at her back and tried to relax into a more comfortable position. Her legs felt exponentially better, but then she could only focus on the sweat trickling down between her shoulder blades.

“It’s sweltering in here,” she whispered.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. You’re like an icebox temperature-wise.”

“I can’t help that I have a binary vascular system.”

“If we’re gonna be in here for another hour, I might as well be as comfortable as possible.” And she began to unbutton her shirt.

“What, what are you doing?” His whisper was as strangled as a whisper could possibly be. 

“I’m sweating to death in this.” 

The Doctor had been a little off-balance already: first the TARDIS had materialized in the middle of Farmland, USA instead of sunny Mexico; then they were chased by the moaning undead to this small, seemingly abandoned farmhouse; and then they found themselves trapped in this very small, very dark, very warm closet. 

And now Rose Tyler was sitting inches away from him in only a pair of cut-off jean shorts and her bra. A blue bra, the Doctor could see despite the darkness, with a tiny pink bow in the hollow between her—

His throat was suddenly dry, and he swallowed convulsively. 

“You know, back when I’d watch those old black and white films, I’d have to have my teddy bear with me so I could grab onto him when I was scared,” Rose said, her arm brushing against the sleeve of his coat. 

“…It is a bit warm in here, isn’t it?” the Doctor found himself saying, as he fumbled his way out of his coat and suit jacket.

Rose was smiling, but he didn’t notice; he was looking at the buttons of his shirt cuffs, trying to undo them and having some amount of trouble.

“Need some help?” she said, reaching over before he had a chance to reply. “Here.” And then she was rolling up the right sleeve of his shirt, his skin refreshingly cool under her fingers. As her fingertips brushed against the line of his arm, an involuntary shiver ran through him.

“If you’re feeling the heat, why are you shivering?” she whispered in a way that told him her eyebrow was raised.

“Heat shivers,” the Doctor said in a shaky voice. “Like when you get sunstroke.”

“Uh huh.” Her hands were at his collar now, tugging at his tie. “Even with that binary vascular system, I just don’t understand how you can walk around in a full suit and tie—”

Neither ever found out where that sentence was going, because suddenly his lips were against hers and he was pressing her against the wall of the closet, his hands tight around her arms. 

As trite and ridiculous as it sounded, Rose saw stars behind her eyelids and felt her entire body do its best to mimic Jell-O. She remembered a bit in one of the Harry Potter books where Harry’s bones had been magically removed from his arm, and she was pretty sure this must be what that felt like. It really was _astounding_ how much cooler his body was than hers, when he was pressed against her like this…

And then he pulled away enough to let her catch her breath. She returned to her senses and heard the telltale shuffling just beyond the door, the slow and heavy drag against the creaking floorboards, the guttural moan. There was a sudden scratch on the door, with enough force behind it to make the doorknob rattle. She stiffened in fear.

Rose hadn’t told him how much those bad black and white movies had scared her as a child, how she still had nightmares of rotting fingers pulling her through broken windows, how she would awaken screaming at the bite of sharp teeth, tangled in the sheets and drenched in a cold sweat. She felt the old childhood terror rise, lodging in her throat and stealing the air from her lungs. 

His lips were against her forehead, a soft benediction, and she realized she could _hear him in her head_. 

_**Keep breathing, in and out. You have to keep breathing.** _

Rose tried her best to listen, but the temptation to hold her breath and the suffocating fear were terrible obstacles. She could feel herself getting light-headed.

**_Rose Tyler, don’t you dare faint. You’ve faced down the Dalek Emperor and Slitheen in Downing Street and an entire army of Cybermen. You can make it through the night of the living dead. You’re the Bad Wolf, you’re the defender of the Earth, you’re Rose Marion Tyler._ **

His voice was hypnotic and soothing, a barrier between her and the fear. As his words echoed in her mind, she could feel the tenuous strands of the old nightmares unweaving and falling away. 

There was a sudden loud bang on the first floor below them, a loud shout of triumph. Then another crash, more raised voices and jubilant screams. The scratching at the door ceased, the shuffling receded into the hall, and then came the distinct _thwack_ of a baseball bat against a head and the thud of a crumpling body.

The Doctor pulled back, his hands sliding away from her arms. “Dawn. That’ll be George Andrew Romero and friends.”

She gasped in a huge, shaking breath and wrapped her bare arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely. “Thank you, Doctor,” she breathed against his neck.

He returned the hug, tried to ignore how soft her back was against his arms. “No problem. You know, “Thriller” sent shivers down my spine the first time I saw it.”

Her laugh was shaky and breathless, but it was a laugh, an honest Rose laugh.

 

\---

 

Four hours later they were back in the TARDIS, Rose had had a long cold bath, and they were now curled up on the couch in the entertainment room with a gigantic bowl of popcorn between them.

“What do you feel like?” the Doctor asked, reaching for the remote.

“A romantic comedy. The fluffiest, most ridiculous romantic comedy you’ve got.” And she pressed her head against his shoulder with a sigh.


End file.
